


You Could Be Mine

by frankccstle



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017), daredevil - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankccstle/pseuds/frankccstle
Summary: You have lots of experience when it comes to being awkward, but you're pretty sure your lowest point is throwing coffee on the Punisher. Not to mention the fact that "awkward" kind of becomes a thing between you two, but luckily, that doesn't stop a spark from igniting.





	You Could Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I suck at summaries and also the title is just from a Guns N' Roses song that I happened to be listening to, but anyway, here is my second Frank one shot because I'm absolutely in love with him — this is around 5000 words which is insane, but I hope it doesn't get too boring! 
> 
> The "implied sexual content" warning doesn't mean actual smut here, just some naked people and possibly a kiss at the end... :)

  **BETWEEN YOU AND** Frank Castle, things had always been awkward — truth be told, that had been the case since the very beginning. Maybe it was because you could be quite the clumsy person, maybe because it was the world's way of bringing you together all the while amusing itself with your constant, embarrassing encounters. Whatever the reason was, there was no denying the fact that only the sight of him could bring a deep red blush to your cheeks, whereas for him, the mention of your name forced an amused, fond smile to his lips. You weren't really close, no, not even friends, but you knew each other — and quite frankly, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forget you.

The first time that you met was at one of the many diners in New York, it was already late and you were just getting out of work with an undeniable need for some junk food to stuff your face with. And while you tiredly rested against the counter, _he_ was seated in the corner booth, hidden by the shadows with a steaming cup of black coffee in his hands — God only knew how he could even drink that, not to mention the ability to not burn his mouth despite the heat of the drink, which didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. However, you didn't notice him, not until you were walking towards your usual booth while holding your own coffee mug in hand, only to end up stumbling on your own feet and leaping forward with a lack of balance to keep you steady and upright.

Much like you had feared, your sizzling hot drink landed on the stranger's lap, the coffee staining the tight jeans and burning his skin — at least concluding from the hiss between his busted lips — as he looked down at the remaining pieces of what had once been a cute little mug. For a second, you were speechless, and you weren't 100% sure if the reason was his beaten, yet surprisingly handsome face, _or_ the glare that took place on it immediately when he looked up to your own, terrified expression. To your relief, the look on his face seemed to soften when he noticed the horror on your features, like you were on the verge of falling apart, but that didn't stop him from clenching his jaw in discomfort.

"Spilled a little something there, huh?", were the first words Frank Castle ever spoke to you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he sat there with his arms up in the air and his mind devoid of any ideas regarding a smooth save for the situation — he was drenched in hot coffee, and needless to say, that wasn't quite the ending he had hoped for his already long night. But concluding from the look on your face, which made him sure you were either going to throw a fit or break into tears, you didn't need more pressure on you either.

"I'm sorry", you eventually parted your lips as the words nervously tumbled off of your tongue, but when you stepped closer to do something to help, the man lifted his hand to stop you. At first, you were confused by the attempt to create distance between you and him — for God's sake, you were only trying to fix the mess you made — but when you looked up and your eyes, for one goddamn second, _locked_ with his, everything clicked into place and you recognized his bruised face from the countless articles and news reports that had been dripping with his name. _Frank Castle. The Punisher._ Hated by most, feared by all — and you threw your coffee all over him at some ungodly hour, when blowing your brains out in the back of some shady alley would be the most convenient. 

Luckily, you were you, and therefore one of the very few that chose to believe in the truth, in the man behind the skull that had been the last thing for many people to see. _Bad_ people — people who more or less had deserved the fate he was just brave enough to deliver. You didn't know him personally, but you knew that he didn't kill innocents, and therefore, unless he considered one clumsy accident a punishable crime, he wasn't going to hurt you. He, though, he had been hurt and innocent people had been killed right in front of his own eyes, and that pushed more words out of you as you continued to stare into his deep, warm eyes in a daze.

"I'm sorry", you repeated, but this time, your voice was softer and more worn with sympathy, and it didn't take him long to realize the tone he had heard several times. No doubt he knew you had recognized him, although your reaction was quite the surprising one, but nevertheless, it pulled a chuckle from him, even if it was by no means an amused one.

"Yeah. Don't worry 'bout it, sweetheart", he rasped out, his fingers twitching as he finally tore his gaze away from you and directed it out of the window and into the dark night, deep in thought despite still being covered in the coffee that was supposed to be in your system by now. 

"Do you, uh—I live pretty near, so I could get you—", you stammered, gesturing towards his jeans, only to then proceed to turn red at the realization of your frantic movements at his crotch, and you could have sworn you saw a brief smile cross his lips. You couldn't be sure though, because it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

"Like I said, you don't gotta worry, ma'am. Trust me, having a lady spill their coffee on me ain't the worst I've had", he reassured, and even though the thought made you uneasy, knowing his identity gave you no choice but to believe his gruffly spoken words. The bruises and scars littering his face alone were enough to convince you that some coffee on his clothes wasn't his lowest point.

Leaving there and then felt borderline wrong, but he wasn't giving you anything more to hang onto, not a thread of a conversation in the air as he proceeded to stare out of the window, his finger still tapping against his own mug. You could only hope that he'd go home soon, change into something clean and warm and be okay. Take care of himself. You, however, didn't stick around to find out, as the waitress called out your name with your bag of food waiting for you, and you quickly turned on your heel to make a quick exit.

Before you did, though, you turned back to Frank once more, almost about to apologize yet again, but you stopped yourself at last second — he didn't need your pity. He had gotten enough of that during his lifetime, and you weren't about to be the one another name on the endless list. Instead, you cracked a half of a smile at him, "I bet that's still a thousand times better than what you're drinking", you gestured towards the coffee stains on his clothes and then at the black poison resting at the bottom of his own mug, and with that, you walked out of the diner.

You never saw it, but you left him smiling there.

—————

**THE SECOND TIME** you saw Frank Castle was nothing short of awkward — much like the first encounter you had had with him. This time, though, you weren't spilling drinks on him, although you had enjoyed quite a few of those over the night, leaving you in a drunken haze as you finally stumbled out of the busy bar and into the cold night in the middle of the night. You weren't much of a drinker, not usually, but you weren't completely against the idea of letting loose and having fun once in a while, which had started out as a mere thought, and ended with you downing shots whilst surrounded with people you could barely remember anymore.

He had been keeping an eye on the city, looking for a target mostly, seated on a rooftop with his sniper resting on the edge, when he spotted you. You didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, but the way your legs were wobbling and how you seemed to be unsure which direction was the right one, he did consider helping you somewhat necessary — even if he didn't owe you anything. In fact, it was you that still owed him, for, you know, pouring hot coffee all over him. However, you hadn't seen him since then, excluding the news, which seemed to be all about his handsome face nowadays.

Indeed, although Frank was nothing but a memory of one awkward, long night to you, he was one that pluckily stuck in your mind. You had tried to wipe that small smile away from your thoughts, you had tried to forget about his thundering voice, but you couldn't deny that the way he had called you _sweetheart_ was still tugging on your heartstrings, like a reminder it had happened. You didn't know what it meant — perhaps it was a slight celebrity crush on the newest vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, but nonetheless, you kept on rewinding back to that night. Even if the way you had stumbled and knocked your drink over was a bittersweet, cringe-worthy memory.

The brisk air felt relieving on your heated body, a thin layer of sweat glistening against your skin after spending hours in the crowded bar, and it made you hum contently as you wandered down the streets, intending to go home although you weren't quite sure if you were going the right way. What was supposed to be a light buzz, became _this_ , and with your lack of experience when it came to drinking, saying that you were lightweight would have been an utter understatement. Luckily, you didn't have to survive the dark night all alone, because as you tripped over your own shoes and headed down for a painful collision against the pavement, a strong arm wrapped around your waist and scooped you up at last second.

"Jesus Christ!", you yelped, blinking your eyes as your head was spinning endlessly — or so it felt, but when you finally looked up and your vision cleared, you found yourself staring into familiar dark eyes, underlined with nasty, purple bruises that reached all the way to his cheekbones, and once you instinctively glanced down at the rest of his face, you noticed his sharp jawline ticking before a small smile splayed over his soft lips. And of course, the sight of him caused you to break into one, as well.

"Just me, ma'am", his voice was low and quiet as he broke your shared gaze to glance down at your wobbly feet, clearly pondering whether or not it would be a smart move to let go of you — you hoped that it wouldn't, merely because his large hands resting on your hips was a sensation that this drunken version of you was enjoying immensely.

"Y/N", you then spoke up, and in an instant, Frank's head had snapped up and his eyes met yours once again. Even with a haze like yours, you could tell he was unsure what you meant by that, so you chuckled and added, "I'm Y/N. No need to call me ma'am, or whatever", you slurred, your words blurring together as you offered a lopsided smile towards Frank, who nodded in response.

"Yeah. You, uh, you live near? I'll walk you there", he offered, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he continued to support you.

Nodding, you pointed your finger at nowhere in particular, but luckily you did remember the right address, giving Frank something to work with. If you hadn't been this drunk, you would have been embarrassed as hell, and watched what you were saying, but the liquid courage flowing through your system encouraged you to go ahead and break the silence between the two of you with, "I had no idea the Punisher would be one for walking drunk damsels home", your elbow nudging his bruised side gently.

With a faint snort, Frank rolled his eyes, mostly at the title that had been given to him without his consent. "Just tryna be a decent human being, right. No need to be an asshole", was his simple explanation, and for a moment, you remained silent, giving Frank the ability to focus on where he was going and shield you with his arm in the process. He knew it was risky to walk out in the public, with an innocent woman by his side no less, but he was hoping that his cap and the hood draped over it would keep his identity hidden — he hated the idea of you getting caught in the crossfire. Or anyone who didn't deserve it, really.

But just like he said — he didn't have to be an asshole, and if he were to leave you alone with your luck, that would undoubtedly be the truth. And frankly, only the thought of what could happen to you without him by your side, as you drunkenly walked the shady streets of Hell's Kitchen by yourself, was making his blood boil and his guts twist. Needless to say, he had no intentions to let go until you'd be safely in your apartment.

"I'm not scared of you, y'know", you muttered suddenly, and surprised by your choice of words, Frank tilted his head down enough to glance at you, before humming lowly and looking back up at the street.

"Yeah, well, I never intended to scare you", his eyes scanned the surroundings, and eventually, he spotted the right apartment building, beginning to lead you there with careful steps.

While a quiet laugh slipped from your lips, you shrugged. "Your guns are kinda intimidating though", you continued talking, even though you should have just kept your mouth shut for the sake of maintaining whatever shreds was left of your dignity, but instead you let the slurred mumbles escape your mouth with no shame, just your heart racing at the feeling of Frank's strong arms around you, his hot breath on your neck, the scent of his shirt clinging onto your own clothes in a way that you never wanted to go away.

"And why's that?", he grunted, "I ain't gonna shoot you, sweetheart. I don't go after people who don't got it coming", not mentioning the gun resting beneath the waistband of his jeans, nor the variety of weapons he owned in general — although he had a feeling you could imagine what his home looked like, after all, you were aware who he was and what he did. Still, he didn't particularly fancy the idea of scaring you with the fact that he was currently armed, because maybe a part of your intoxicated mind was expecting him to not be.

"I know that, I meant _these_ guns", you poked his bicep bravely, your tongue resting against your teeth as you eyed the bulging arms and the broad shoulders, not minding hanging onto them _at all_. "You really should stop being so attractive, Frank Castle", you added, and chuckling at your words while shaking his head, he was unable to hide the smile even though he let his head hang low to avoid you noticing. It didn't work.

"You're a pretty cute drunk, huh?", he lifted an eyebrow while guiding you up the stairs that led to the front door of the right building, and once you had managed to get inside, you couldn't help but laugh — so loudly, the whole building probably woke up to your giggles. 

"Cute?", you grinned while leaning against Frank slightly, the both of you waiting for the elevator to arrive. "I bet that's not a word you throw around a lot", you couldn't stop snickering at the thought of the big bad Punisher calling someone _cute_ , finding something adorable — but when it registered in your head that he found you worthy of the word, your cheeks grew hot and red, forcing you to look down this time.

"You're goddamn right it's not. But, I'm guessing you won't remember any of this in the morning, you're a mess", a laugh rumbled from his chest and you felt your legs go weak at the thrilling sound — one that was rarely heard in this godforsaken city, so you considered yourself quite lucky.

Lifting an eyebrow, you held the elevator doors after stepping inside unsteadily, feeling a sense of clarity slowly wash over you as you stared into Frank's eyes. "From cute to a mess? Aw", you pouted, and still smiling, he shook his head.

"Well, nobody's perfect", Frank pointed out, but the way he looked at you made it almost seem like he saw you that way — like you were perfect. Granted, your hair was a disheveled disarray, your make-up was nowhere near pretty and you were still swaying from one side to another with hiccups beginning to rise from your throat eventually. And yet, the look in his eyes was fond and the smile on his lips faded from amused to soft as he continued, "Stay safe", turning on his heel then.

You offered a nod as a promise. "I will. And thank you, Frank, I most definitely _won't_ forget this", you insisted, and the glance he gave you before the elevator doors separated you from one another, was almost hopeful.

Like he didn't want you to forget.

And indeed, in the morning, when you woke up in your own bed with your clothes still on, a wide, giddy grin appeared on your lips. You remembered everything — including the fact that he found you cute, and somehow, that made you far more warm and fuzzy on the inside than it should have.

—————

**TIME WAS PASSING** , and you barely saw Frank, excluding the screen of your TV. His name only ever came up when your co-workers or friends were gossiping about him, and you forced yourself to hold back your tongue no matter how much you wanted to gush about what a good man he was, and how your heart was beginning to yearn after him with each day that went without you seeing more of him. You weren't good with this kind of stuff — _feelings_ , and you were almost hoping you could break your fall, just because it was stupid. Who even crushed this easily, and on a wanted man too? You weren't sure if you were supposed to laugh or cry at the fact that you wanted him too, but not in the sense that everyone else did. And as much as you tried to lie to yourself, the truth always came out when it was late and you were lying all alone in your bed, wondering where Frank was and if he was okay. 

The truth was, you were starting to miss him, and you were hoping that one day, you could see him again.

And by some goddamn miracle, it didn't take another week for your wish to come true. The media had been all over him lately, from his short-lived prison sentence to his alleged death, and then people suspecting that the skull of the infamous Punisher was still looming over the city — you chose to believe that he was very much alive and that he needed everyone to trust in his demise, which was also why he hadn't come to you. That, and the fact that he had no reason to look for you — you had met twice, but that was that and no doubt the fond gazes you were imagining in your head were a product of your intoxication from the night you got absolutely wasted.

But, like said, you were destined to have another encounter for him, and it had become habitual for them to develop into a great sense of awkwardness — from you spilling coffee all over him, to you also grabbing his arms and quite literally swooning over him, the two of you had had quite a few embarrassing moments. This one, was no exception, although maybe that was okay.

It was pouring heavily in Hell's Kitchen that night, the rain smacking your face as the droplets flew in the wind that was forcing you to clutch onto your jacket tighter, praying for the cold air to have mercy on you. You certainly didn't want to get sick, which was why it would have been smarter to get a cab, but you were already so close to your apartment, it was pointless now. Your feet were aching and you could barely see, a mess of wet hair stuck to your forehead as you kept going in the dark, silent evening. You had learned that the part of town where you lived was often quiet when it got late, which sometimes made you paranoid, but occasionally, you appreciated the peace. This time, it was the latter, because if it wasn't for the silence, you wouldn't have heard the words that were spoken from behind you.

"You gotta be fuckin' insane to be walking in this storm", that familiar, raspy voice earned your attention and with your eyes flying wide open, you turned around to find no other than Frank Castle himself, standing in front of you with his hands deep in the pockets of his black coat, a gray hoodie underneath and tugged over his hair, which had grown slightly longer on the top of his head since the last time you saw him. However, he was definitely still the same man you remembered, as there was a fresh set of bruises across his features, and a curt expression directed at you as he eyed the sight of you curiously.

You were speechless, and for a while, weak enough for the wind to grab and take you with it, but somehow your feet remained on the ground even if it felt like your heart was fluttering away, lightweight in his presence. "I haven't seen you in—", you began, unsure how to continue, before breathing out, "it feels like forever."

Nodding, he grunted in response. "I know. Had to lay low, y'know? Just wanted to see you, though. You doing okay?", he inquired, his eyes constantly looking away from you but they always ended up back on your face, hidden by your hood and the wet, sticky hair that kept falling onto your eyes.

"I'm okay", you responded quickly, and you were just about to wonder if he was okay too, but you realized that would put an end to your conversation quickly — more quickly than you were willing to. So instead, you looked over to your apartment building and gestured towards it before your eyes returned to Frank, who almost looked like he was waiting for something. Perhaps he wanted to keep talking, too. "You want to come over for some coffee? And uh, dry clothes?", you questioned, even though you weren't quite sure why you added the last part, it wasn't like you had any to give him. But you did like the thought of changing yourself. 

Frank was quick to accept your offer, already stepping towards you, never declining a cup of coffee. Silently, the two of you proceeded to walk towards your apartment, until he broke the silence with words you hadn't expected, in a tone that was even more surprising. "You gotta lot of men's clothes then?", he spoke lowly, unsure if he even wanted the answer to a question he was sneakily hiding within the one he said out loud, but he felt a sense of relief kick in when you gulped and shook your head. And what he said next was so quiet you weren't quite sure if it was just your imagination, but it was almost as if he had muttered, _"Good."_

When you finally got inside your apartment, after one painfully silent elevator ride, you shrugged off your drenched jacket and Frank did the same to his, both of them ending up on a pile on the floor — not very convenient for drying them up, but you were more concerned with the rest of your clothes, hating how they stuck to your skin and made you cold enough to shiver. However, before you hid in your bedroom, you turned to Frank, who couldn't help but adore the sight in front of him — in your opinion, you were all wet and gross, but he found you gorgeous.

"I might have some shirts that could fit you", you spoke up, unable to stop yourself from scanning his body, but it was _simply_ for the sake of figuring out the right size — it really wasn't — and before he could question your words, you had continued. "From when my brother visited me", was your quick explanation, and as a blush crept to your cheeks, you turned around. "You, uh, you can grab a towel from the bathroom if you'd like", you muttered one last time, leading the way, and only then you realized the downsides of having your bathroom connected to your bedroom.

Thanking you, Frank disappeared into the smaller room, and as soon as you were left alone, you sat down on the edge of the bed while a deep sigh escaped your mouth. So far so good, right? Nothing incredibly awkward. Wisely chosen words. Just... two acquaintances dealing with the aftermath of a heavy downpour. That was okay, right? _Right?_

Well, it most certainly didn't explain the butterflies in your stomach nor the fast pace of your heartbeat, but you elected to ignore the rising feelings as you stepped over to your drawer and started to pull out some dry clothes. Nothing too fancy, but you did make a note to find something you wouldn't mind Frank seeing you in — your old sweatpants and a worn band tee didn't count as something like that. 

You finally started to strip off your suffocating clothes, struggling to peel the layers off, but you did eventually manage to yank down your tight jeans. The cold air hit your thighs and legs quickly and you shivered as you kicked the pants away from your ankles, before placing your freezing fingers on the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. The wet material had left its mark on your skin, and although you, too, needed a towel to dry your skin, you reached out for the warm clothes in the belief that any second now, Frank would step out of the bathroom, and when he would, you needed to be dressed.

But, you were a little bit too late.

Like a deer caught in headlights, you turned around at the sound of the door opening into your bedroom, and panic spread out in your heart instantly — you were still very much in your underwear, the clothes resting on your bed, but you had no time to quickly pull them on when Frank had entered the room, his rough fingers running through his hair as he did. "I got you one too—", his gravelly voice bounced off of the walls while handing you a towel, as his other hand shut the bathroom door, but he didn't get to finish when he had turned around and spotted you. "Oh, wow", was his initial reaction, and you felt like fainting for so many reasons you couldn't even name them all, "'m sorry", he apologized quickly, but he still didn't turn around.

At least you had your nice underwear on. 

However, although shame and insecurity were breaking through the barriers of your heart, sending a red shade traveling up your skin, you didn't mind — see, he was without a shirt too, probably because you were yet to give him one. His jeans were riding _dangerously_ low on his hips and with rain droplets running down his bruised face, he looked even more flawless than you could have ever imagined, earning a thick gulp from you as your eyes remained glued on his muscular chest, defined arms, strong shoulders and scarred skin. 

You weren't the only one taken aback by the moment. If anything, Frank was already wondering if he had been out, taking down some asshole when he got knocked out, leading him into this blissful daydream — or maybe, he had gotten shot and this was Heaven, which would have definitely explained the sight he was unable to tear his eyes away from. Your wet hair resting against your flawed yet perfect skin, your shiny legs leading up to the hips he desperately wanted to grip, barely covered with lacy underwear — just like your chest, too, the black bra pushing your breasts up as they glistened under the lights of your bedroom, still wet from the rain. It was such a normal thing, yet it felt so supernaturally enthralling, like an out-of-body experience as he took you in, the image imprinted on his mind and no doubt bound to keep him company in the darkness of his own apartment on lonely nights.

And there you stood, both silent and staring at one another, both undressed and waiting for the tension in the room to snap. You weren't quite sure what you were expecting to happen, but you knew what you were hoping for — and hell, he wanted the same thing, although he had spent a lot of time trying to deny that. It had felt so wrong at first, but as he looked at you now, he was done fighting the feelings that he had attempted to suffocate. He didn't only want you, but he needed you — wasn't that why he had sought you out in the first place?

"Shit", he breathed out, "you're fuckin' beautiful."

And that was all he needed to say, when you were already walking towards him, all self-control and awkwardness flying out of the window as he took you in his arms and pressed his firm chest against yours, lips crashing together for the first, but most certainly not for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I'd love some feedback! I'm not sure if I'm writing him very accurately, and he even has such a specific way of talking I'm always so unsure hahah. I tried my best though! Thank you <3


End file.
